


secure

by icarusinflight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Hair-pulling, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Non-Linear Narrative, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-27 18:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: "Sometimes, I just wish all the voices in my head would be quiet.”Tonks helps her find that peace and quiet.





	secure

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Femmefest mods, who were so wonderful in organising this, so helpful to me when I had questions, and so patient with me when I had issues. Thank you so much for organising such a wonderful fest!

_Now_

Hermione watches Tonks set things out.

She watches Tonks a lot, she knows that. Feels like she’s been watching Tonks since the first time they met, when she walked into Hermione’s life with pink hair and a ripple of her face. Hermione had stared then, and she’s not stopped staring since. She’s never met anyone so amazing, so effortlessly cool, and Hermione got caught up in it, watching Tonks whenever she got the chance. At first she thought it was only admiration that made her watch, until one time Tonks had caught her watching, responding with a wink and a grin that left Hermione breathless. It was then Hermione realised it might be something else.

Hermione feels naked sitting on the bed, which is a touch ridiculous, considering she doesn’t think she’s ever been so fully clothed here before. Usually it’s the two of them, coming together, joined at their lips, their bodies, every point they can bring together really, but tonight is different.

The rope goes on the bed, and a silk scarf she’s not seen before placed just next to it. Tonks holds up a pair of scissors to show Hermione, then places them on the bedside table. _Just in case,_ Tonks had told her when they were discussing it. Just seeing them sets something at ease inside her. It helps to know that there’s a safeguard in place.

_Just in case._

Tonks smiles at her when she catches her eyes, walking to stand at the end of the bed.

“Come here,” she says, or asks. It’s a question, and Hermione knows she could decide not to. If she doesn’t move to the end of the bed that would be the end of it, and Tonks would never hold it against her. But that’s not what Hermione wants.

She moves to the edge of the bed.

It’s not graceful, she’s no model, and if Tonks was looking for someone who can do a sexy cat crawl across the bed, she wouldn’t have picked Hermione. Hermione is not a sexy crawler, she’s an awkward shuffler, scooting her bum across the bed like a child on the classroom floor, but she still gets there, dropping her feet over the edge of the bed to brush against the soft plush carpet.

Tonks closes the distance, bending down to bring their lips together. It’s just a soft brush of lips at first, but Hermione opens her mouth, an invitation she hopes will be taken, and it’s only a moment before Tonks does.

Nothing in her life has ever felt as easy as this feels with Tonks. She’s had to work so hard for everything. People think just because she’s always top of her classes that it comes easy, but hardly anyone knows that it’s all because of how _hard_ she works at it, that behind every essay and every top mark are all the hours she put in before them. But this, here and now, with Tonks, feels like it does come naturally to her. It’s easy to open her mouth, easy to bring her hands up to Tonks’ sides and let herself go to the warmth inside that comes with it. She feels like a the wax to Tonks’ flame, and it’s oh so easy to let herself melt alongside it, to go wherever she needs as long as she stays close to that warmth.

Hermione tries to chase her mouth when Tonks pulls away, but Tonks stops her movement with a hand to her chest.

“Are you ready?” she asks. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but Hermione’s so focused on Tonks that it feels loud to her ears. Tonks watches her face carefully, and Hermione knows she can’t hide anything from Tonks now, not that she wants to.

“Yes,” she says. Her hands are shaking, her whole body really, and she’s nervous, yes, but it’s still the truth. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Tonks says, barely above a whisper, and then louder, “take off your clothes, and kneel by the edge of the bed.”

Hermione can feel the anticipation building, pooling in her stomach and her chest, feels like she’s being pulled tight from it. Her body hot from just the kiss and Tonks’ eyes on her, and she rushes to remove her clothes, folding them over the corner chair, before kneeling by the bed. She watches Tonks remove her own clothes, stripping down to her bra and underwear. She doesn’t go any further though, and Hermione can’t help the whine in her throat at that, but Tonks clicks her tongue, shaking her head slowly.

“This,” she says, picking up the length of rope, “is all about you.”

_Then_

There is, Hermione thinks, a fork in the road of every party she attends.

The point usually comes about two drinks in, and usually that’s when Hermione passes on the next round. She doesn’t hold her liquor well, she knows this, but she doesn’t mind, can still have a good night at parties without it, more than happy to watch her friends as they continue to drink even if she’s not. She loves being the sober one too — loves being the person who takes care of her friends, making them cups of tea, and cheese sandwiches, bargaining with them to drink the water she knows will help them feel better in the morning. She loves being able to show how much she cares for her friends by taking care of them.

Except that tonight, when she came to the fork in the road, she’d decided to take the next drink. Then the next, and the next, and then probably a few more, but she can’t quite remember. All she knows is at some stage she finally escaped from the terrible influences that are Ginny and Ron ‘ _having a good night’_.

She’s not exactly sure where she is now, somewhere soft and warm, but that might also be the fact she’s curled up. She can still hear the party going on around them, the soft hum of voices and the occasional bark of laughter, but the last time she opened her eyes the room was spinning, and that’s not an experience she wants to repeat.

She’s happy here, still a part of it all, even if she’s not really _in_ the throng of it. This is her place now, all hers, and she can’t imagine a single force powerful enough to make her move. Her body feels like a cloud, light and warm, and she drifts just like one, drifting above the party. She could be a spider in the rafters, happy in her own web, with the party down below her.

A hand on her shoulder pulls her right back to her body, shaking her from her reverie. Hermione curls up tighter into a ball, determined not to let the person bring her back to her body. She’s not a spider anymore, she’s an armadillo, the armadillo which can curl itself into a ball. She’s the most amazing Armadillo, all balled up, and no one can get to her through her shell.

“Hey, love,” a familiar voice says, and her resolve flies out the window, like an owl sent with its post, and she really needs to stop comparing everything to animals.  Her eyes fly open, and it takes a moment before she can see the face of the person Hermione always wants to see. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, too loud even to her own ears. She tries again, toning her voice down. “Feeling great.”

She is, her head feeling floaty — and definitely not animal like, but if she were an animal now she would probably be gull, floating on the coastal winds. But now there’s a Tonks here, and Hermione can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be.

“I think it’s time for you to head home, love.”

“No,” Hermione protests, voice too loud again in her panic. “I’d rather stay. Stay here with you.” There’s a voice in her head screaming at her that she’s gone too far, but it’s easy to ignore in favour of looking up at the face in front of her.

Hermione always wants to look at Tonks, no matter how she looks, with her hair pink or brown, even when she’s pulling faces, even when she has a pig snout, Hermione still finds her gorgeous. There’s no version of Tonks Hermione’s seen yet that she doesn’t want to look at.

Hermione reaches up, hand stroking at Tonks’ cheek, the same cheek it usually is. Her skin feels nice, the softness and warmth of another person, but it’s something else too, something uniquely Tonks. Hermione never wants to stop, it feels so nice. It’s probably just that she hasn’t been this close to another person since she and Ron split, the basic human need to touch and be touched, nothing more.

She tries to shove down the voice that tells her it’s her Tonks-ness which makes her want to touch, to keep touching.

“You’re the most beautiful person I know.” She only realises she’s said it out loud when Tonks’ face flushes bright red, and her hair turns a similar tone. She’s so beautiful like this, always beautiful.

Tonks gives a laugh, and something about it sounds off to Hermione’s ears, but she can’t place why, not through the fuzz of her brain. “Not many people say that about me.”

“That’s not right,” Hermione says, frowning. “They should.” Tonks is so beautiful, and people should tell her everyday. _Hermione_ should tell her every day. She wants to be allowed to tell Tonks every day. Then she does the only thing she can think of, the only thing she really wants to do, and, using her hand on Tonks’ cheek, brings their lips softly together.

It’s awkward, Hermione’s neck arching up, and even with her hand on Tonks’ cheek, it’s hardly enough to bring their lips together. Hermione thinks she must be doing something wrong, maybe she’s missed something — it’s been a while since she’s kissed anyone, and then she realises it’s only her kissing, covering Tonks’ lips with her own and she breaks the kiss, pulling away, dropping down and burying her head in the arm of the couch.

“Oh love,” Tonks says, hand coming up to hold at her cheek, and Hermione tries to bury it even deeper into the material, like if she only tries hard enough she might be able to become one with the sofa. Stranger things have happened, like three teenagers fighting one of the worst wizards the world had ever seen. “You’re drunk.”

“No!” Hermione insists. “I mean. No, yes, I am I think. Probably drunk, maybe even the most drunk I’ve ever been.” She tries to think of a way to say it, to say the words, just thinking about them makes her head hurt, but she needs to try, because Tonks _isn’t getting it_. “It’s not _because_ I’m drunk. I’ve wanted to do that. Since like, forever. And I will — I’ll want to do it again tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Hermione feels the grin on her face, and picks her head up again, leaning forward once more, eager to close the distance, to kiss Tonks _again._ She _wants_ to so much, but Tonks puts her hand on her chest, stopping her from achieving her goal. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk. If you still want to.”

Tonks picks her hand up, holding it in one of her own. There’s a pen in her hand that Hermione is _sure_ wasn’t there before. “Meet me here tomorrow for lunch if you still mean it then.” She drops her hand. “And get some water in you.”

_Now_

She kneels on the ground, waiting patiently, even as it feels like she could vibrate out of her body just from anticipation.

Tonks uses gentle words, and even gentler hands, when she moves and pushes her into place, arranging Hermione into exactly the position she wants.

“Comfortable?”

The floor is hard against her knees even through the carpet, and her thighs are tense from how the position stretches them out.

She nods her head.

“Words when I ask you, babes,” Tonks says, words soft, and spoken almost into her ear, as Tonks moves behind her.

“Yes.”

“Hand behind your back, hold your hands together.”

Hermione rushes to follow the request — order even — lacing her fingers, gripping them tight. The time stretches out, and Hermione tries to wait patiently, but it’s hard. Even knowing the time will come, it’s so difficult to wait, the anticipation thrumming beneath her veins. Tonks is so close behind her, close enough to hear her breaths even over the sound of the blood pounding in her veins, echoing in her ears. Her hands are getting clammy where they hold onto each other, and it becomes too much. She has to loosen her hold, just a little, fingers loosening, and shoulders relaxing, bringing her hands further up her back to rest more comfortably.

“There you go,” Tonks whispers in her ear, a brush of lips, and Hermione whimpers, the sound escaping without her permission. She bites down on her lip to stop it happening again, but it hardly helps the groan which comes when Tonks places a finger on her back, stroking it slowly down her spine.

“You can make noise,” Tonks says. “I want to hear you.”

Hermione’s never really loud — she doesn’t make the sort of noise she’s always associated with having sex, the exaggerated moans and groans she’s seen in movies, the screams that people always seem to have in those. She used to feel self conscious about it, worry she was too noisy or not enough, but with Tonks she’s starting to _just be,_ to not overthink it, and it’s something they’re working on too, even here, with this.

Tonks pulls her clasped hands out a little, pulling on her shoulders again, and even though it’s a strain, when Tonks releases her hands, Hermione keeps them there.

 _This is it,_ she thinks, and then there’s the touch of rope against her skin.

They’ve not done this before, but it feels natural. Hermione closes her eyes and focuses on the rough fibre of the rope where it rubs against her skin. There’s a rhythm to Tonks’ movements, as she wraps the rope around her wrists, and Hermione loses herself to it, as Tonks wraps the rope around her wrists again and again before tying it off, securing them together. A final squeeze of her hands, and Tinks releases her hands. Hermione gives the ropes an experimental tug; they’re tight but not, keeping her wrists together, and it feels like the rope is doing more than just securing her hands, it’s securing her whole body, to here and now.

It should feel weird maybe, but it doesn’t. It feels exactly right, and Hermione couldn’t imagine letting anyone else do it to her, but couldn’t imagine anything feeling more right.

“Look at you,” Tonks says, voice deep and it sounds like what silk feels like; Hermione isn’t quite sure how that works, but it feels like she’s wrapped up in Tonks’ voice when she speaks. Hermione hears her moving, and when a hand comes up to rest on Hermione’s cheek, her eyes fly open, looking up to find Tonks in front of her. She’s kneeling too, a mirror of her own position, only she’s still partially dressed. Her eyes are locked on Hermione, like Hermione is the centre of her world, eyes full of affection, and it’s too much, Hermione has to close her eyes to it.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Tonks says, and Hermione tries to duck her head down, but Tonks doesn’t let her, keeping her chin exactly where it is. “You’re so gorgeous sometimes I can’t even believe it.”

Tonks’ thumb rubs at her cheek, her palm is at Hermione’s lips, and Hermione wants to place a kiss there, isn’t sure if she’s allowed. Another hand comes up to her neck, rubbing the skin there, before starting a trail down Hermione’s body. Her hand never pulls away, tracing her fingers over her neck, getting a handful of her left breast, and squeezing her nipple lightly, just a tease of touch, before her hand continues the course down. Tonks traces over her ribs, then further down, dipping her thumb into Hermione’s belly button. Eventually the hand stops, resting at her hip, squeezing, and Hermione feels so turned on, just from the touch, can feel the heat pooling in her stomach, and the moisture between her legs.

“There’s so many things I want to do to you,” Tonks says, and Hermione moans, then mouths at Tonk’s hand to stop from saying _please,_ to stop from begging. “You’re being so good for me,” she adds. Tonks’ hand moves then, and Hermione sucks in a breath, waiting, hoping, but then her hand doesn’t even come close to what Hermione wants, hand moving around to her arse, instead. “Do you want to be good for me?”

She nods her head so enthusiastically her head spins, and she gasps out, “Yes.”

It feels so good she’s getting dizzy, and she wants, wants this, wants more, wants everything Tonks will give her, wants more than anything to be good for her.

Tonks’ other hand slides from her mouth, down her neck, and Hermione’s mouth falls open on a protest she doesn’t vocalise. Tonks captures it with her lips, slipping her tongue inside her mouth, and Hermione takes it greedily, kissing Tonks like her life depends on it, sucking Tonks’ tongue into her own mouth.

It surprises her when there’s a touch at her folds, Tonks’ hand coming round to touch her from behind, the touch light but sure. Hermione breaks the kiss to moan loudly, head dropping to Tonks’ shoulder, gasping against skin.

She’s so wet, and she can feel it even more when Tonks touches, fingers tracing her folds, the touch light, but enough to send shivers through her body. There’s no resistance at all when Tonks slips her fingers inside, going straight to two fingers, and Hermione gasps out, burying the moan into Tonks’ skin.

She’s leaning almost all her weight on Tonks, collapsing forward. When Tonks’ hand slips into her hair Hermione moans, and then Tonks uses the hold to pull her back, the hold in her hair just this side of painful. It’s hard to balance, she wants to curl inside on herself, stomach tensing up already, but the hand on her head keeps her from doing it. Her breaths are coming hard now, thighs tensing up too; all it would take is a touch to her clit, and she’d beg for it if she had the words to do so.

Her eyes fly open when Tonks pulls on her hair again, stretching out her neck, and Tonks slides her body in closer, bodies brushing together, and the material of her bra is rough against Hermione’s nipples. The pain only pushes her closer, and then Tonks slides her leg in tight between Hermione’s leg, and it’s like heaven, just enough pressure to her already overheated centre. She thrusts against it, leaving moisture against Tonks’ leg, and when Tonks pulls at her hair again, stretching out her neck before bringing her lips against Hermione’s neck, Hermione groans, grinding down against Tonks’ leg. There’s the pinch of teeth and it’s enough to send Hermione tumbling over the edge.

_Then_

“Sometimes,” Hermione says, or tries, but the words escape, floating away like the lanterns over the Great Lake. The world feels soft and safe, and she always feels sheltered here, lying on the couch with her head in Tonks’ lap, like Tonks creates her own Protego just for the two of them. But she can feel the tensions underneath her skin from the words she can feel bubbling, the feeling that has been under her skin. She needs to get it out, even if she can’t be sure if Tonks will understand, not sure if anyone would, but the words won’t be quieted until she lets them out. She closes her eyes, blocking the world out, focusing instead on the touch of the hand in her hair, the slow path of fingers moving through her locks and against her scalp. She focuses on all of that, and the words inside her that feel like she’s held onto for so long, the words she feels like she needs to get out and if she doesn’t do it _right now_ she might never get them out. “Sometimes, I just wish all the voices in my head would be _quiet_.”

The hand stills for a moment, and a chill runs through her body, the shock of fear that she’s said something wrong, or that Tonks has heard them, and decided that it’s too much, that _she’s_ too much. The hand starts up again, and Hermione releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“I just want to stop thinking for a little while,” she adds, trying for conviction, but it comes out sounding more like a question.

“Oh love,” the voice comes from above her, sounding sad, and worst of all _worried_.

“This helps,” Hermione says quickly, cutting Tonks off before she can say another word. She’s so worried the next words will be filled with _pity_ and Hermione doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t think she could handle that from Tonks.

The hand in her hair _is_ helping, fingers lightly brushing over her scalp before moving through her curls, gentle strokes from her roots down to her tips. Every stroke feels almost like it’s putting her to sleep, but she’s also more tuned in to the feelings around her than she’s ever felt, like her whole body is focused down to the feeling of the hand in her hair.

“Please don’t stop, I like it.”

“‘Course not.”

The hand continues, and Hermione lets herself go, and it feels like  she’s melting into the lap beneath her head. One hands in her hair, the other hand resting on her shoulder, and even when the hand gets caught on her curls she doesn’t mind. If anything it adds something, each tug a prickle of pain that just hints at something more. It’s not like when she gets her hairbrush caught on a knot, and nothing like all the times boys have pulled on her hair. It’s something else all together, and Hermione doesn’t understand it, but she comes to look forward to them too, each tug and the feeling it sends shooting through her.

Hermione’s not sure how much time passes, it could be anywhere between minutes, hours, or the whole night, before the hand in her her hair comes to a rest, and the hand on her shoulder stops stroking, and then gives her a little shake, like when you try to wake someone from slumber.

Her body feels heavy when she moves, and she sits up slowly, half assisted by the hands on her arms, and blinking up at the face which swims in front of her. For a second Hermione thinks Tonks is playing a trick, but it’s only Hermione’s eyes, and when she blinks them again to clear her vision, she’s looking at the same face it had been before, all pink hair and green eyes, and one of the kindest smiles she’s ever seen.

Not a pig snout in sight.

There’s something sad about her smile now, something tugging at the edges that wasn’t there before. Hermione feels a flash of guilt at that — that her mood might have bled over, infecting those closest to her, like she’s some sort of emotional Typhoid Mary.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Good,” Hermione says. Her head is swimming, and she feels almost drunk, even though all she’s had to drink all night is tea, not even a wine with dinner. “Thank you.” She turns her head into Tonks’ leg, burying her head into Tonks’ thigh, words muffled on the material of her jeans. “That was… I liked that, with you.” It felt _safe_ , she doesn’t say, though she’s not sure if she has to. Sometimes Tonks just seems to get it.

“If you liked that,” Tonks says, her words coming out slow, almost like she’s taking her time choosing them and that — and it sticks out, even through the fuzz of her brain. “We could do that again, or other things. There are things that can help you get out of your brain, if that’s what you want. We can talk about it.”

“Are they sex things?”

Tonks gives a little laugh, more a huff of breath than anything, but Hermione still hears it. “They can be. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Hermione says, turning her head to speak the words clearly, because she does want it, and she wants to say it now, while the words are still coming, before she loses her courage. “I want that.”

Then she lays her head back into Tonks’ thigh, and lets herself float away to sleep.

_Now_

“You did so well,” Tonks whispers into her ear. She still feels all loose, like putty melting over the bed. Her wrists feel hypersensitive, and it's almost too much, the way Tonks is holding them, thumbs rubbing where the ropes once pressed against her skin. Tonks brings first one, then the other up to her mouth, placing kisses against the rubbed red skin.

She pulls Hermione down to the bed with her, and Hermione goes, tucking herself into Tonks’ side. It feels like it's only the arm wrapped around her that stops her from floating away, or maybe melting through the bed.

“Thank you for letting me do that with you,” Tonks whispers into her hair, “I loved getting to see you like that. You were so good. So gorgeous.”

If she weren't made of putty, Hermione might blush at that, as it is she can only find it in herself to smile, burying it into Tonks’ shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Hermione whispers there. “You always take care of me.”

“Always,” Tonks agrees.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Hermione says, her face still buried in Tonks’ shoulder. She’s had so many good times with Tonks’ shoulder. It never judges her, or pulls a confused face at her. It’s great like that

“Okay.”

Hermione’s not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that, and she starts to squirm in Tonks’ arms, wondering if that should be her cue to leave. She didn’t think saying three little words (more than three really, but it’s the three words which _matter)_ would be so anticlimactic. She’s not sure what she’d been expecting, but an _okay_ wasn’t it, and the response threatens the calm in her mind, like a wave to a boat.

“Are you not going to say anything back?”

“I love you too. Of course I do. But I think you might be feeling the aftereffects of what we just did. The endorphins.” She places a kiss on her head, and buries her fingers in Hermione’s hair. She feels like a cat, sleepy in the sun, and she thinks she might fall asleep, wouldn’t mind if she did. “Tell me again in the morning if you still feel the same.”

“I will,” Hermione promises, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. And every day after.”

“Okay love,” Tonks says, placing another kiss on her head. “I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Thanks to many people who helped me with this.  
> Thank you to [Shiftylinguini](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/), who chatted this over a thousand and one times with me, who talked about Tonks a hundred times and who laughed along when we came up with the wip title(which, fyi, was _honky tonks time_.  
> Thank you to [Buildyourwalls](https://buildyourwalls.tumblr.com/) who alpha'd this for me, pointing so many ways to improve this, and letting me know it wasn't a flaming pile of trash.  
> Thank you to [Maesterchill](https://maesterchill.tumblr.com/), who beta'd, and elmo reacted all over the place and then helped me fix all my mistakes.
> 
> It wouldn't be possible without you all.
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life!  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/). You can also find a rebloggable (and slightly nsfw) moodboard [here](https://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/post/185673224120/secure-by-icarusinflight-ship-hermione).


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